


I'll be here, in my familiar haunts

by coffeeandchemicals



Series: but I have no other place to keep you safe [2]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Abuse, Aftermath of Violence, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Character Study, Dubious Consent, First Time, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Neil Hargrove's A+ Parenting, No Shadow Monster | Mind Flayer, Oral Sex, Period-Typical Homophobia, Possessive Behavior, Possessive!Steve Harrington, Steve Harrington is not a good person, Under-negotiated Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-15
Updated: 2020-08-15
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:46:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25923046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeeandchemicals/pseuds/coffeeandchemicals
Summary: Billy opened his eyes. Early morning light had flooded into a room that Billy was completely unfamiliar with. Panic hit him in the stomach. Neil was going to kill him.Wait, Neil had alreadytriedto kill him. And Steve had——Steve had saved him.Billy felt his face flush as he remembered the previous night.This is a companion toif you belong to anyone, then you belong to me.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Series: but I have no other place to keep you safe [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1863352
Comments: 4
Kudos: 121





	I'll be here, in my familiar haunts

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone,
> 
> I decided to write a slight Billy-centered companion fic to [ if you belong to anyone, then you belong to me](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25496749). I have a tentative sequel planned from Steve’s perspective (because Possessive!Steve is kinda fun to write). 
> 
> Please mind the tags! If I’ve missed something, please let me know.
> 
> This is totally unbeta’d – all mistakes are my own.

_Small._

_Remember._

_Make yourself small._

_Curl up._

_Bring your knees in._

_Wrap your arms around them._

_Protect your organs._

_Bow your head._

_Protect your eyes._

_Make yourself weak._

_Be submissive._

_It’ll pass._

_It’ll hurt._

_Breathe._

_It’ll pass, but it_ will _hurt._

_Breathe._

* * *

Billy jerked awake with the memory of pain ghosting through his body. He tried to take a breath to slow his racing heart, but his ribs screamed in agony, he could only manage little quick gasps. He’d already curled up into the fetal position. His body, trained by years of abuse, acted without conscious thought.

Got to make yourself small.

Got to protect those organs.

Just got to keep surviving.

Maybe.

But Billy was so tired. His fight or flight response hadn’t let him rest in six years.

* * *

The last time Billy had slept through the night he had been twelve. His mother had kissed him good night and told him to be up at seven so she could take him to school. He remembered getting up, but his mother hadn’t been there. She hadn’t been waiting with her usual cup of coffee telling him to hurry up and eat his breakfast. She hadn’t been in her room braiding her hair with her deft delicate fingers. She hadn’t been putting lunch into his backpack and asking if he’d grabbed his homework off his desk. She hadn’t been running her hands over his face or smoothing down his hair or kissing his forehead goodbye. She hadn’t been anywhere.

Instead, Billy’s dad had barked out, “Your mother’s gone. Get to school.” The expression that had crossed his face when he’d told Billy that had reminded Billy of a storm coming in — thunderous, roiling, simmering, but explosive at any minute. Billy hadn’t said anything. He hadn’t eaten anything. He had packed up his bag and ran out the door in two minutes flat.

Billy’s stomach had growled all day.

That night, Billy’s dad had gotten drunk and screamed at Billy. He told Billy that it was his fault she’d left them, that if he’d been a good boy then she would’ve stayed, that she was never coming back. And it was all Billy’s fault. Neil had yelled and drank and yelled some more. Billy had cowered in his room, with his hands over his ears, trying to block out his dad’s hate and rage. Eventually, despite his empty stomach, Billy had ended up falling asleep, curled around his pillow, arms covering the top of his head.

Neil had come in and wrenched Billy up by the arm. He’d been so drunk that Billy could barely understand the words coming from his mouth. But Billy had seen the rage and disgust on Neil’s face as he wrapped his other hand around Billy’s throat and shoved Billy against the wall. 

“It’s your fault,” Neil had slurred over and over, punctuating each repetition with another shove. 

Billy hadn’t said anything. There hadn’t been anything he could say. He’d tried to remain limp. Maybe Neil wouldn’t end up killing him if he thought Billy had already passed out. Neil had eventually let go and Billy had crumpled to the ground, tears streaming down his cheeks, lungs aching, throat throbbing with every quick beat of his heart. Billy had sat there for almost an hour, until he’d heard deep snoring coming from his parents’ room, indicating that Neil had finally passed out from all the booze he’d drank. Billy had quietly crept into the kitchen, gone to the freezer, and pulled out a bag of peas, which he’d then gently placed on the front of his aching throat. When it had gotten too cold to bear, Billy had put the peas back in the freezer, washed his face in the kitchen sink, and gingerly walked back to his bedroom. He tried to make no noise.

The next morning, Billy had found Neil sitting at the kitchen table, mug steaming and newspaper open blocking his face. Neil had looked at him over the top of the paper and forced out, through clenched teeth, “Change your shirt,” and then went back to his paper. Billy had put on a button-down and buttoned it all the way up to the collar to hide the bruises. After he’d returned, he’d made himself breakfast — cereal — and lunch — a pathetic sandwich. Neil had eyed him silently while Billy had done this, making goosebumps rise on the back of his neck and his shoulders hunch forward. 

“You gotta get to school yourself. You’re old enough, don’t need to be babied anymore,” Neil had said, from behind his paper. 

“Okay,” Billy had mumbled, throat making his voice scratchy.

“What was that?” Neil had snapped.

“Yes sir,” Billy had forced out in a slightly louder voice, trying to ignore how much it hurt to speak.

Neil hadn’t said anything, just nodded and glared.

That night, Neil had gotten drunk again. He hadn’t hurt Billy though, just screamed at him. Neil had called him worthless. Neil had thrown curse after curse, slur after slur, insult after insult, standing in Billy’s doorway at three in the morning, looming over Billy’s slight form. Curling up into a ball hadn’t done anything to protect Billy from Neil’s barbs. They’d dug in, wormed their way under Billy’s skin, lodged themselves in Billy’s brain, pierced into Billy’s heart. 

It hadn’t been every night. It hadn’t even been most nights. But Billy hadn’t been able to discern a pattern to Neil’s rage. He hadn’t known when Neil would hurt him physically or just hurt him with words or just stare at him from his doorway with a drink in one hand, breathing heavily, mouth twisted into a scowl.

Billy had walked on glass — feet bloody and aching as he tried to assuage Neil’s anger — for the six years since his mother had left. Since she’d left him alone with a monster. Since she’d left him alone to be twisted and molded into something that she wouldn’t have been able to recognize as her little boy. Since she’d left him alone to turn into a monster.

* * *

Sure, he’d survived. He’d made it to eighteen. He was an adult now. But Neil still controlled him. Neil’s words and barbs had shaped him into an angry, bitter man. Neil had brainwashed him so that he was both an abuser and a victim. Billy had internalized Neil’s hate and it had become the only thing he could feel. And Billy didn’t know how to change it. He didn’t know if he could change it. He didn’t know if he’d ever have the energy to change it.

* * *

Billy opened his eyes. Early morning light had flooded into a room that Billy was completely unfamiliar with. Panic hit him in the stomach. Neil was going to kill him. 

Wait, Neil had already _tried_ to kill him. And Steve had—

—Steve had saved him. 

Billy felt his face flush as he remembered the previous night. Steve had fucked him. Steve had fucked him, and it had felt so good. A little shudder ran through Billy and it made his back sting. Right, Neil had burned him before he’d try to kill him. And Steve had— 

—Steve had taken care of him. 

Billy couldn’t remember the last time someone had taken care of him. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d let someone take care of him. Neil had taught him that everything was an exchange — you don’t give something without getting something, you don’t get something without giving something. Billy had made this litany into a self-fulfilling prophecy. He didn’t enter into something without knowing the terms. He approached every relationship as if it were a contract: befriend Tommy — it made Billy the king and made Tommy look good, sleep with a random girl — it made Billy look straight and she got off, flirt with Carol — it made Billy seem approachable and made Carol want him around (giving him fucking “bedroom eyes”, which was irritating, but furthered the whole Billy looking straight thing). 

Billy wasn’t straight. He could appreciate the female form — who doesn’t like tits and ass? — but it didn’t get him going, not like hard muscular planes, sharp hipbones, and cock did.

Ha. Neil had been right when he’d called Billy a “fucking faggot”. Not that Billy would ever tell him that. Neil would finish what he’d started last night and kill him.

Billy felt his ribs throb, his back sting, and tried not to shift too much as he got comfortable. He closed his eyes and let himself drift. He pictured Steve’s face from last night — Steve probably hadn’t been aware of the emotions that he’d let slip out. Most people probably wouldn’t have even seen them. But Billy had trained himself to read faces — to read Neil’s face — so he could avoid Neil’s anger. (Which didn’t really work because Neil was fucking unpredictable.) When Billy had turned around after hearing a car stop and a car door slam, he was sure he’d see Neil stalking towards him, getting ready to finish him off. Instead Steve had been there, and Billy had to pull up his façade of bravado. But this Steve had been different from the Steve that Billy saw at school. This Steve had been fucking predatory. He’d scanned Billy up and down as if he were trying to see inside Billy. As if he saw Billy as prey. Billy’s heartrate had spiked — it had already been beating fast because Billy had thought Neil had found him. Then Steve had—

—Steve had touched him. Steve had touched his face. Steve had _tasted his blood_. And, like, gross, but also… Also, that had been kind of fucking hot. Billy remembered falling onto the grass in surprise, it had jarred his bruised ribs and kidneys, it had hurt so fucking bad. Billy had wanted to cry from the pain of it. But then he’d seen Steve’s facial expression shift slightly when Steve had looked from his face to his hands and realized that Billy hadn’t fought back against whoever had hurt him. The cool appraisal with undercurrent of lust had turned to rage and hate. Billy had thought that, at first, Steve had hated him, until Steve’s persistent questioning made Billy realize that Steve was furious with the person who had hurt him. It had scared Billy. It had thrilled Billy. It had made lust course through Billy. Steve had wanted to hurt Neil. Steve had wanted to protect Billy. 

Then Steve had come back with that _bat full of nails_. And Billy had felt adrenaline replace the lust, the fear overwhelm the thrill, and he had told Steve what happened. Because Billy was just so tired. He was in so much pain. And, as the words had tumbled out, all of his feelings had been replaced with shame. Billy had felt ashamed because he hadn’t fought back. He’d felt ashamed because there must be something wrong with him that Neil was doing to this to him. He’d felt ashamed because six years had past, and he still wanted his mother. He’d felt ashamed because he just wanted Steve to save him and he’d never felt that way before. 

But then Steve had— 

—Steve had pulled him in. Steve had— 

—Steve had sat Billy down in the vee of his legs. Steve had—

—Steve had wrapped his long arms around Billy and Billy had just let the words spill out of his mouth. Billy had just let himself relax into Steve’s arms. Billy had just let himself feel the warmth radiating from Steve. Billy had just let himself feel _safe_ for a minute. And then Steve had—

—Steve had kissed his neck and it had made Billy boneless. Steve wanted him. And, god, Billy wanted Steve.

Billy shivered again as he remembered how gently Steve had touched him when he’d cleaned Billy’s wounds. Lust and arousal hit Billy low in his gut as he remembered Steve’s blown pupils when he’d taken Billy’s dick into his mouth. The feeling spread right to Billy’s cock, making it hard, as he remembered how it had felt when Steve took him apart with his fingers. How it had felt when Steve had first entered him — Steve was so big that it had burned as he pushed passed the ring of muscle. It had hurt but it had felt so good once Billy had gotten used to the stretch — it had been awhile since anyone had fucked him. Then he remembered how wrecked Steve had sounded, begging Billy to let him move, and Billy’s dick jumped. A slow grin spread across Billy’s face — he wanted to do it again.

Steve shifted behind him. Billy had his eyes closed but he could feel the bed move. He could feel Steve’s breaths on his neck. He heard Steve whisper, “You belong to me.”

Steve’s words coiled around the lust that had settled in Billy’s stomach. They ran through his brain. They dragged gentle fingertips along the back of his neck. Was it that simple? 

Billy rolled over, a slight grin still on his face. He ended up squished against Steve’s front, face firmly planted in the hollow of Steve’s throat. He could smell Steve’s hair products and sweat, and it made him feel safe. “You gonna take care of me, pretty boy?” Billy asked, as he inhaled deeply.

Billy felt Steve kiss the top of his head and heard him say, “Yes.”

* * *

Billy let out a long sigh and felt some of the tension leave his body. He wondered, if maybe, he’d _finally_ be able to sleep through the night.

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from [Artificial Light](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BO_ZmDETR98) by Typhoon.
> 
> Any comments or kudos are greatly appreciated. 
> 
> I'm on tumblr (If you want to yell at me or scream about these two)! You can find me @ [coffeeandchemicals](https://coffeeandchemicals.tumblr.com/). (Spoiler alert - I am learning how to tumblr, but it's a slow _slow_ process.)


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